Practice Makes Perfect
by justonemoreartist
Summary: The unfortunately available Queen of Arendelle attracts all manner of suitors, some more preferable than others, but each is turned away for some reason or other. When one less than kind suitor makes a particularly nasty exit, Anna prods a confused, but willing Kristoff into helping Elsa feel better. Contains Kristelsa.


**Author's Note:** Based off of a prompt where one of Elsa's exasperated would-be suitors' huffy exit results in her needing practice kissing, you know, just because. I modified it slightly so I could get a (sort of) story out of this. I'm trying to get a feel for Kristoff and Elsa and how they interact and I don't think I've got it, but since Kristelsa is a truly rare breed here's my contribution while I think about what to do with my main story. Enjoy!

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**Practice Makes Perfect  
**

It was with all manner of pomp and circumstance that Prince Jakob of Maldonia arrived in Arendelle, and it was with all manner of frustration and disgust that he left it but a month later, complaining loudly to the servants who loaded his carriage in the courtyard that if he ever intended to marry anyone like the Queen of Arendelle, he hoped someone would shoot him dead first. Kai had several lists drawn up of volunteers before the luggage was fully stowed, but Elsa sighed and shook her head as she watched him go, her hands clasped tightly together and creases forming at the corner of her eyes when she turned away.

Days later, a distraught Anna babbled as she waved her hands in quick gestures that clearly indicated something important, even if her mouth and thoughts were moving too fast for him to make out much of what she was saying, but he did latch on to the fact that Elsa was upset and, as she tended to get when she was upset, withdrawn. For some reason the princess believed that this was something that Kristoff himself could help with, perhaps because Anna didn't want to burden her sister with her own worry, and perhaps because Kai had apparently hinted to her that maybe it was an issue that only a man could help her with, "whatever that means."

This led, of course, to Kristoff wearing what could only be described as clothing for the sake of clothing. Instead of comfort and usefulness, he was instead covered in frippery that annoyed him as he walked down the hallway towards the throne room. The dark pants were uncomfortable, the knee high boots pinched his toes – he had never realized how roomy his own boots were – the jacket was probably straining against his broad shoulders, and his hair…

He'd let Anna do his hair. That was probably a mistake, but she'd been so happy he couldn't say no. Even if she'd muttered a few cryptic things like "gotta make you look pretty for her" when she didn't think he'd hear him. Something was up. Her insistence that she'd overstepped their boundaries as friends months ago had been accompanied by sneaky glances at him from out of the corner of her eye, and he couldn't help but wonder just what it was that she saw. And she saw a lot of him these days, considering she begged Elsa to let their "Royal Icemaster and Deliverer" enjoy dinner with them, should occasion and good manners allow, which meant he now had a room in the castle and a seat beside an exuberant princess every night. Although it was the seat across from the queen that had lingered on his mind more than once during the day.

He turned a corner and something hit him right at chest level. "Oh!" a startled voice said, and Kristoff cringed upon recognizing the queen or rather, Elsa as she rubbed her nose. "I'm sorry, your Majesty," he blurted out. "Are you all right?" he added, reaching out and then stopping, his hands retreating to his sides to hang there awkwardly. Elsa waved her hand, a small smile on her lips as she accepted his no doubt laughably out of line apology. "It's all right, Kristoff, I…" She gave a slow blink and then her eyes roved over his appearance. He tried not to squirm under the scrutiny, his worry making him imagine her lips curling into an amused sneer like so many other nobles he had the great fortune of meeting, but when their eyes met all he could see was a mix of confusion and startled…pleasure?

She motioned at his outfit, one eyebrow edging toward her hair. "So…what is this all for, then? Not that I'm complai-don't you usually prefer your other clothing?"

Kristoff decided his general policy was for the best here. "Your sister was worried about you." Elsa immediately flinched and his stomach twisted into a tight knot of shame. "And, well, she sent me to talk to you: I'm not really sure why but…" He shrugged, and jerked his head at movement, shoulders slumping as he realized it was the epaulets. "…and she, uh, she wanted me to look good, um." It had seemed completely normal the way that Anna described it, as dressing his best to impress the queen so that he could serve her well, but on his peasant's tongue the words sounded out of place and foolish.

"…why was Anna worried about me?" Elsa asked. It was less of a question and more of a heavy exhale that pulled the corners of her lips downward as she watched his face with tired eyes.

"She said you were acting withdrawn, and I wouldn't need her to tell me that." It wasn't hard to tell when someone wanted to be alone, and for all her station that was well above his own, Elsa was still human at heart.

Well, not entirely so, but the point remained.

"I guess not," she mumbled. She wasn't looking at him anymore, just slowly rubbing one arm that was crossed over her chest, a thin line of protection against her.

"She…she thought it might have to do with that Jak-Prince. That prince." He didn't say "that asshole", but he was thinking it pretty hard. He had become aware of the many ways that lords and royals could insult one another behind brittle smiles and pithy laughter, so to see the prince baldly stating that the queen had all the manners of a shellfish was both shocking and infuriating. His respect for Kai had increased exponentially when the manservant sweetly told the prince that his firsthand experience with the lifestyle of filthy, bottom feeding vermin was unlikely to land him another invitation to the palace, but he was free to come wailing at the gates if Daddy forced him to keep looking for a poor fool to marry. Kristoff probably would have just punched the man, but there was something satisfying about watching a puffed up toad deflate after a well-deserved verbal jab.

"It did," she conceded, and he could actually see her backing away inside of herself. It reminded him of an old dog slowly moving around his bed in patient, tired circles before settling down onto the side that didn't ache the most, the floor hard but familiar in an unforgiving way.

"I…," Elsa said, and looked down at her hands. They were small, thin, delicate, so very different from his hands, which were more like paws that had the strength to break the ice apart, wield heavy weapons with ease, could crush whatever fell into his palms.

She could kill him in a heartbeat with her hands.

"I wouldn't let him kiss my hand."

The admission fell out of her mouth like wine spilled on the floor, an embarrassment that, as she hastily explained, was due to her reluctance to let someone even hold her hands. "He…he would have to touch my hands and…I didn't," she said, twisting a finger absently as she stared through the window and into the courtyard, "I didn't want him to, because I didn't know him much at all and didn't feel comfortable doing it and…because-oh, I know it's silly now, now that I have things under control, so I'm not going to freeze anyone but…"

"Does it matter?" he asked. She snapped her head up, gawking at him. "What?"

"Does it matter if you're better now?" She stared at him. That…was not what he meant to say. If Bulda were here she'd laugh at him and call him her little fool, always sticking his foot in his mouth. If only idiocy was his sole transgression. It was a step above pouring salt on a slowly closing wound. "Don't get me wrong," he said, as if that would make things better, but thankfully her brow was furrowed in something akin to perplexed interest, not anger, "that's great, for everyone, but…why should you have to let other people touch you if you don't want to?"

"That line of reasoning might work elsewhere," she said, slowly, drawing out the spaces between the words as though she knew that one followed after the other but not truly knowing why, "but I'm afraid things are different in court." She smiled with one side of her mouth and not her eyes. "I guess you could say I don't have much of a choice, if I don't want to be rude, that is."

"Why not be rude? His royal Hisness-uh."

She clapped a hand to her mouth but the first few giggles snuck through, the muscles in his chest loosening at the sound. "Did you get that nickname from Anna?" she asked, her eyes dancing with suppressed laughter.

"Actually," he admitted, "I'm the one who taught it to her." He stole a glance at her and was relieved to see that her small grin had blossomed into a relaxed smile. "Not that I'm trying to corrupt your sister."

"No, that's…that's perfect, actually." She chuckled and dropped her hands. "Although I should probably avoid being rude to people who have armies willing to defend their honor."

"You could always practice, right?"

She frowned at him. "How would I practice?"

"You could have someone you know and like kiss you. On the hand. Politely." It sounded better in his head. When he hadn't said it out loud.

"I…I never thought of that." She glanced out the window, mulling over the idea. "I guess it makes sense that I would have to practice to-are you offering?" On anyone else, the sudden question would have been far too forward; as spoken by a queen, there was a ring of formality to it…that was undermined slightly by the tense lines of her body.

"I guess I am…?" He glanced down at himself, at the pure white jacket with its gleaming brass buttons, the inky black stitching, his dressy pants and those polished boots that he could see his own stunned face in. He laughed. He usually didn't think Anna was the type to think ahead, but he had been wrong before. "I'm even dressed for it."

"You are," she said. Her eyes lingered on the epaulets before returning to his face.

He had a sudden and terrifying thought. "You're not kissing anyone, are you? Wait, no, it would be someone kissing you-you're not being kissed by anyone, right? Because that's fine if you are. I just don't want to step in on someone else's kissing grounds."

It was incredibly unfair that he could not turn into stone and yet feel like it at the same time. But if he expected Elsa to give him a blank look before turning away, he was surprised to find that the quiet ruler, who listened without interrupting whenever Anna was on some long-winded tale or other, was instead still smiling that same, delighted smile that he had startled out of her before, tinged with a hint of warmth that did not seem at all strange on her face. "No, Kristoff, I'm all yours" she said, his skin tingling as her words washed over him.

"I should kneel," he decided, and right then he was kneeling, and several birds that had been resting on the windowsill outside were darting away, shrieking. He didn't spare anything else a second glance as he curled his fingers underneath her limp palm, raising her hand as his eyes never left her own ice-blue ones, focused so intently on his face, her lips slightly parted, her other hand forming a fist that she pressed against her breastbone, watching his head dip slowly.

And then his lips brushed her bare skin.

* * *

Dinner that night was different.

Anna spent the majority of it swiveling her head to look between the two of them, watching first as Elsa, apparently transfixed by the far wall, made three passes at her glass of water before finally connecting, and then as Kristoff methodically cut his chicken into smaller and smaller pieces that he evidently intended to feed to ants. There was a red mark on Elsa's wrist. And forearm. She kept pulling her sleeve down, but the ice did little to hide the pattern. It matched the flush on her and Kristoff's cheeks quite well.

Anna's smile was at its widest point when she leaned back in her seat, glanced at their bowed heads, and waited until both of them had taken a sip when she said, "Just so you both know, that hallway is perfectly visible from my room."

Their simultaneous spit-take was the highlight of the evening.


End file.
